Logs:Pre-Avenging

Pre-Avenging
Dramatis Personae DJ, Fury, Steve	2021-07-07 "And you don't think the Avengers wading in will make this a -- stupid-ass, potentially world-ending shitshow?"
Location <NYC> S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ - Times Square
This corner office is big, bright and airy, which is not cheap to come by in midtown Manhattan. On one side, a huge glass desk sits in front of the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over Times Square. The far corner has a leather couch, a coffee table, a liquor cabinet and a sideboard, but the rest of the floor space was left open between eclectically stocked bookshelves. Outside the day is blazing hot, but up high cirrocumulus clouds have begun rolling in, soft and white against the fierce blue, innocuous to all appearances. Mackerel skies read differently though, to a trained eye -- the first visible warning of the storm working its way up the coast. It's hard to say whether Nick Fury's eye is trained in that particular way, but it is trained up at the sky through his office window. He's dressed smarter than usual in a black three-piece suit, the stark white of the linen shirt jarring on a man who almost never wears anything other than black. His tie, if he had one, is nowhere to be seen, and his whole person looks the kind of shabby that comes of too much travel and not enough rest. His gaze snaps away from the window and to his visitors as they enter. "Thank you for coming on short notice, gentlemen. Can I offer some coffee or --" He only hesitates the barest fraction of a beat. "-- soft drinks? Well. It's pretty much just Orangina and tonic water, actually." He's going to pour himself a coffee, anyway. "I trust you've both heard about the situation in Latveria?" Steve is in a light gray suit classically tailored to his muscular frame, the pale blue dress shirt and silk tie in watery stripes of blue-green-purple making his blue eyes look all the more vivid. His hair is still just a touch spiky-damp, and despite his formal attire and stiff posture he carries his shield casually over his right shoulder. "I'll have a coffee, thank you." He doesn't sit, but doesn't look particularly awkward standing behind one of the chairs across from Fury's, either. The flick of his eyes to DJ is quick and faintly troubled, but his expression smooths over as he looks the window at the intricate pattern of clouds above. "Only what mainstream media's been reporting." A frown, here. "And Twitter. Not sure how credible that is -- any of that." To an uninformed observer, it doesn't much look like a DJ has dressed for this occasion at all. in crisply pressed khakis, a gray polo shirt trimmed in green, he's a fair cry more casual than those around him, albeit a step up from his usual work-ready attire. He doesn't return Steve's glance, watching Fury steadily as he settles into a chair, shaking his head at the offer of drinks. "Sure. The conference, some tin pot dictator, imperiled industrialists -- that about the sum of it?" Fury returns to his desk with two glass mugs of coffee, handing one to Steve before dropping heavily down into his high-backed chair. "That's about the long and short of it. If you seen some outlandish claims about Latveria's eccentric ruler, they might not all be so far off." He takes a careful sip of his brew before setting it down. "Anyway, Uncle Sam and all his friends been real eager to rescue aforementioned industrialists in distress and is unsurprisingly making a goddamned hash of it." He blows out a long breath. "The CIA failed, Special Ops failed -- three whole times -- the Joint Chiefs are gearing up for some Multi-National Force-type bullshit and the White House is way too keen on it. Now, going to war with Victor motherfucking Von Doom, or anyone with access to that level of technology, is exactly the kind of stupid-ass, potentially world-ending shitshow I'm here to prevent." Leaning forward, he steeples his hands in front of him, his eye flicking between the two men. "I think this might be a job for the Avengers." Steve accepts the mug with a curt nod of thanks, and does finally sit when Fury returns to his seat. He sips his coffee and listens, frowning more deeply. "Those robber barons are destroying the world, far as I can tell, but I have a hard time imagining their companies will actually change course to save them. Even if they were willing, it's obviously easier to foment war." He lifts his eyebrows slightly. "And you don't think the Avengers wading in will make this a --" He doesn't quite stutter, here. "-- stupid-ass, potentially world-ending shitshow?" DJ's eyes grow slightly wider, and he only just barely manages to contain his short bark of laugh behind the press of his palm. "A job for -- I mean, I can think of some folks he missed. You want me round up a couple stray billionaires, drop them off in Latveria, I can be back by dinner. But this --?" He's only just gotten settled, but he's already pushing himself back up out of the chair. Fury does not roll his eye, but the gaze he levels at Steve is decidedly unimpressed. "Part of the idea behind your team is that you don't represent or answer to any state. You're attached to S.H.I.E.L.D. and by extension the UN, which should mitigate the worst of the diplomatic fallout. Look..." He spreads his hands in front of him. "The only thing Doom is going to accomplish is hand an excuse to the hawks in Washington. Chances are Russia'll come down on Latveria's side if it comes to war and I'm damned sure it will if we leave this to the military. I got no love for those rich bastards, either, but getting rid of them ain't worth risking World War Three." His voice drops lower, contrite and imploring. "This is a request, not an order, but I wouldn't be asking if the situation weren't dire." Steve isn't getting up, but his eyebrows are sinking down into a deeper and deeper frown as Fury speaks. "The news is already making Latveria out to be an aspiring superpower and the hostages into innocent civilians caught up in Doom's opening salvo." He narrows his eyes at Fury. "If war is really, as you say, what the administration wants, it wouldn't be too hard for them to turn a Justin Hammer into an Archduke Franz Ferdinand. And if extracting them will avert another --" His jaw sets hard, the speeding of his breath subtle. "I have to try." DJ has paused with one hand resting on the back of the seat he's just vacated. His fingers press down harder, lips clamped thin as his eyes stray to the window. "Of course you do." He still hasn't really looked at Steve, not even with the curt nod that he gives now. "Guess I'll see you in Latveria, then. Captain." There's a faint blur, and Fury and Steve have the office to themselves.